


Psychotic Postcards From Abroad

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crimes, Established Relationship, Foreign, M/M, Pictures, Postcards, Romance, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1703129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A puzzle: figure out where I'll go next." For a moment, a stupid moment, Sherlock considers sending a note back. But then corrects himself: that would be <i> rude. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychotic Postcards From Abroad

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #27: Foreign

Another black envelope. Sherlock knows he shouldn't get juiced from the sight of it: it means someone else has died. In a _very_ nasty way. _  
_

Disengaging the seal gently, he feels the pleasant jolt anyway. It's from his most avid admirer, whom he reciprocates those feelings of worship for. Usually, the artistry is far more subtle — a stolen painting, a demolished government — and it'll take Sherlock weeks to even prove his nemesis had anything to do with a certain crime. 

Oh no, this game is far more teasing. 

The envelope contained what Jim Moriarty would consider a postcard. "Considers" because it's definitely a picture of a foreign vacation destination, with one addendum: there's a body creatively positioned on the landmarks. 

Corpses recently mummified in Egypt, a snapshot of their brains being fished out by a hook. Bloodied cadavers in a hospital in Mexico. Sun-dried bodies in the Mojave desert. People hunched over at dining tables, cyanosis set in from poisoned wine. At least twelve others, each more creative and outspoken than the last.

All had the same words scrawled meticulously on the back, in Jim's oddly feminine handwriting, "Thinking of you." The detective used to think this phrase curiously sentimental of the criminal, but now sees it as more of a challenge. Besides, he thought of Jim just as much, _I just couldn't think of a more thoughtful gift_. 

This week's picture was quite different: somewhere in northern Russia, about ten people, slowly freezing to death. It was the first time the victims hadn't already been dead. Sherlock didn't seem to pay the crime-in-progress any mind, so much as the thought behind it. He gave it a moment's musings. 

_All of these, of course, are evidence._ Yet, instead of turning them in to the Yard, or telling anyone about them, Sherlock sets each in the "special" drawer, nestled safely under Irene's phone. _Perhaps I'm a bit sentimental as well._

However, turning this photo over, the words aren't there, replaced by entirely new ones, "A puzzle: figure out where I'll go next." For a moment, a stupid moment, Sherlock considers sending a note back. But then corrects himself: that would be _rude_.

_Oh yes, challenge indeed._

 

* * *

 

When Jim arrives at his hotel in Switzerland, Sherlock is waiting, "A bit obvious, really." Silently, Jim notes that the detective's coat and scarf have been haphazardly thrown on the floor in a heap. 

"Did you ever consider that maybe that was the _point_?" Moriarty hummed, deliberately stepping over the discarded clothes.

"I did. Several times." Sherlock wants to gloat, but decides to move forward for the sake of payment, "Then I realized you had never mentioned a _reward_." 

"Oh no? I guess I didn't. The thrill of a good chase isn't enough?" 

"Not today, no."

"Oh Sherly, what _ever_ would you want from little old me?" Jim asks, overplaying his "innocent" card.

"What's the phrase?" Sherlock licked his lips in preparation, "A kiss to the victor?" 

"If you _insist_." Moriarty said in mocked frustration, but the singsong quality in his voice negated any feigned annoyance, "But just this once." 

Twice in Tibet.

Thrice in Norway.

Eventually, they pretend to lose count.

 

* * *

 

One day, they wake up and it's been more than a year. 

Moriarty still sends postcards. Sherlock looks forward to them, and occasionally visits on whirlwind "business" adventures. 

They don't worry about what anyone else would say — they're off in their own little worlds.

"Besides, without a little chaos, the world isn't worth enjoying anyway." Jim whispers into the detective's ear, holding him as the shrieks of insolent politicians fill the room. 

"I couldn't agree more."


End file.
